Leave it By the Wayside
by DonnaPaperheart
Summary: You don't get to come back from things. Not really. He's finally starting to accept that. But maybe, if you want it enough, you can keep going forward.
1. Chapter 1

**Leave it By the Wayside**

**Chapter One**

**Disclaimer:**I don't own Harry Potter or the Walking Dead.

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><p>Rick had Carl pressed in close against his one side, awake but exhausted and 'Chonne dozing under his other arm restlessly, waking up every few seconds with a small start.<p>

Across from him Harry was sitting in the centre of a fancy circle that covered the better part of the dining room floor, drawn onto the light hardwood in street chalk and walker guts, looking unsure. Hovering over his creation for a moment before settling back on his haunches.

"Is it done?"

Harry jerked a bit, "Yeah," he croaked.

He shook his head and cleared his throat, before looking up and catching Rick's eyes, letting him feel the weight of his gaze, "I don't know if this is going to work, and if we do this it will take everything that I have. I won't be able to do magic anymore—no more ward stones, no more scent masking spells, no more healing potions. You get that right? It'll be—"

"It'll be just the same as it was before you found us," Rick interrupted, "We survived for years without magic, at the very least we could do it again. But we're stronger now, we've been through it all before, we know what to expect and how to deal with it. I think it's worth it for the chance to make everything right."

"Okay, I just—I wanted to make sure."

"You know it's okay if you don't want to do this, right?" Carl put in, "I mean, giving up your magic for us."

"Not to worry. I'm very sure about this. This group is—well, we're a family. You are all I have in the world now," Harry's lips quirked up in a familiar, wry little smile. "Besides, I've been told before I'm pathologically unable to resist being the hero."

"Let's go over the plan one more time," Daryl said, not looking up from where he'd been meticulously cleaning his crossbow and bolts all evening in the light of the flickering candles.

"Well, step one is the biggest one—I do the incredibly complex and virtually untested ritual and drag the lot of us as far back in time as I can manage," Harry said flippantly, standing up to stretch.

"And we'll all just, kind of, wake up?" asked Glenn, "In our younger bodies?"

"Hopefully," shrugged Harry, "There weren't too many experiments done with this magic that actually, well, worked but there was something about the possibility of 'scars of the past carrying over'—whatever that actually means."

"Nothing we can't handle, even if it does end up happening," Carol said, supremely unconcerned, "It's not like we're not already living with the scars."

"What if we're not together when we wake up?" asked Glenn, picking at the hem of his shirt.

"Then we look for each other. If we get as far back as before—before all this ever happened, we come together, organize, gather supplies, find someplace isolated to ride it out. Save who we can," answered Rick, "Same as always."

"Same as always," agreed Glenn, with a sigh, "Looks like we haven't stopped being dumbasses."

"Looks like," chuckled Rick.

"We gonna do this or just sit 'round gabbin' bout it?" asked Daryl.

"Harry?"

"Everything's ready, all I need is the blood."

"Alright then."

According to the ritual Harry had described to them the blood needed to go into a cup, they'd found a dusty glass in the kitchen of the apartment down the hall, one of those fancy champagne flutes, real crystal, practically unused. Harry had said it would do in a pinch.

Carefully Carol brought it out and unwrapped it from the padding of her spare shirts, then she took her knife and slit the meat of her forearm, hissing as the blade dug in and trying to angle the sluggish drip of blood into the flute before passing it over to Daryl.

Once everyone had contributed Harry helped Carl to his feet and the two of them settled in the centre of the circle, cross-legged with the flute of blood between them.

Out in the hall a walker threw itself against the door, snarling.

"Alright?" Harry asked, holding out his hands for Carl's.

"I'm good. Let's just do this."

Carl settled his hands into Harry's grip and closed his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration.

The circle lit up with a dull reddish light, and Harry started to chant, his voice sing-songing over unfamiliar liquid syllables, some of which sounded more like gibberish than actual words.

Rick let his hand drop to his gun as the snarling in the hallway grew louder. Michonne reached for his other hand tangling their fingers and bringing him closer to the circle.

"Come on," she murmured, "We're okay."

Nodding he reached for Carol on his other side, stretching out his arms so that the five of them could encircle the whole ritual setup. Closing his eyes he tried to do what Harry had said and focus on his memories of before. But they seemed so far away—like they'd happened to someone else. Hell, they practically had.

He wasn't the same man he'd been four years ago. Not even remotely. Still, he had to focus, had to try to feel a little like that man again as he concentreated on the little things, working his way backwards, bit by bloody bit.

Harry laughing a bit and saying that seven was a magic number.

Harry showing him the ward stones.

Daryl shooting the walker that had Harry treed.

Losing Tara.

Losing Maggie.

Losing the Washington Trio all in one go when they blew up that department store.

Judith's festering bite.

Tyreese.

Noah.

Sasha.

Beth. Gods, Beth.

Killing that dumb cop of Dawn's.

Killing Gareth's psycho crew.

Finding Bob with his leg so neatly amputated.

Reuniting with everyone.

Terminus.

Killing Joe. Carl's crys.

Those days on the road, just him and Carl and Michonne, eating cheese from a can and feeling a little lighter when Carl laughed.

The prison.

The governor.

Hershel.

Carol's exile.

The feeling of helplessness that welled up when the sickness started.

'You don't get to come back from things.'

His hands buried in soft earth.

The wink of Maggie's wedding ring and Beth's songbird voice and the burble of Judith's laughter and Daryl's irreverent snort and Glenn tripping over his own feet. Three questions and a slow drib and drab of people, of company—people he wanted to protect, wanted to help make a life with, no matter what it cost.

Andrea's faint voice, 'I know how the safety works.'

Those foggy red days where everything was a blur of red spray across his face and the backs of his hands and the flash of Lori's white dress and cool eyes.

T-dog.

Those prisoners.

Hershel's leg.

Carol's elated voice, 'We haven't had this much space since we left the farm!'

The days before that, the ones that turned them hard as steel on the road, Lori's accusing looks. Boiling toilet water they scooped out of the tanks and sinking as low as thinking dog food was appetizing. Freezing nights spent awake and alone, because he was the leader, he wasn't meant to need anyone.

Shane. Shane's blood hot on his hands, his own tears hot on his face. Feeling like his heart was breaking.

He's going to kill me.

I can't leave him.

Dale with his gut's spilling out. Daryl's hand on his gun.

Sophia, poor little Sophia.

Lori's pregnant. We can't leave, Lori's pregnant.

You've got the hard part.

I need a sign. Any sign'll do.

We're all infected.

You're killing us.

Andrea and Amy.

The sharp urgent crack of gunfire and the screams in the night as the herd fell upon them.

Glenn looking down from the edge of a roof.

Merle's severed hand and Daryl's choked scream.

Carl running to him. Lori in his arms. Shane's bewildered grin.

Glenn's voice over a radio calling him a dumbass.

Morgan and Duane.

The first walker he ever saw.

Waking up in that hospital.

Disorientation. Fear. Pain. Light.

There was a sharp crack like a shot ringing out, and then nothing.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>Alright, well, there's a short intro chappie to get us out of the gates. Hopefully you guys enjoyed it. Please take the time to let me know what you think or to share an idea for plot or pairings.

Some things you should know about this story include the fact that there will definitely be slash/femslash/and het pairings represented. (Although no I haven't decided on most of the pairings yet). Also scenes of an explicit sexual nature will not be posted on this site but you can read them on AO3 where I have an account under the same penname.

til next time

-Donna


	2. Chapter 2

**Leave it By the Wayside**

**Chapter Two: Alive on Arrival**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Walking Dead.

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><p>When Harry opened his eyes both of his hands were still clasped in Carl's and for a moment he thought that the ritual might not have worked. And since he pretty much felt like someone had been hollowing him out with a rusty spoon, that—that really would've sucked.<p>

"Harry! Harry, come on, look at me!"

Carl took him by the shoulders and gave him a little shake.

"M'okay," Harry managed, batting his hands away.

Carl breathed a sigh of relief, and then laughed a little, "Well, you'll be happy to know that we went back in time."

Harry frowned, that wasn't right. Because if the spell had worked he shouldn't be with Carl, he should have been wherever his younger self was. Blinking a bit Harry cautiously opened his eyes a bit, just to make out the unfamiliar speckled linoleum floor.

The magic circle was burned into the floor around them, and the air smelled faintly of sulfur and ozone.

"Bloody hell," sighed Harry, rubbing at the circle with the pad of a finger, "Well, at least something happened for all that. You alright Carl?"

"I'm fine," said Carl, "And hey, I think you did a great job. We made it all the way back to when my dad was still in a coma."

"How do you know that?"

"Cause we, uh, landed, I guess, in his hospital room," said Carl, releasing one of Harry's hands to gesture around the room.

Harry's eyes popped open and he immediately winced at the shooting pain that stabbed through them. But craning his neck he could see Rick, looking small and pale and fragile in a way that Harry would never have thought to associate with Rick Grimes. He also smelled rather bad.

Harry frowned at their surroundings.

"This was not how that spell was meant to work," he said, mostly to himself.

"I'm not complaining," said Carl, getting to his feet, and peeking out the blinds covering the big windows, "I wasn't exactly looking forward to being a little kid again."

Harry made a grunt of agreement and thought about hauling himself up too, and after sitting up a bit straighter, decided it was too much effort and instead shifted to sit slumped against the wall.

"You sure you're okay?" Carl asked again, glancing over to him, his expression dubious.

Harry let his head fall back to thunk against the wall with a sigh, "I pretty much feel like shit. It'll get better, though. When I'm not quite so—"

Harry made an ambiguous gesture that did nothing to temper the worry on Carl's face but he did drop the subject, wandering around the room, fingering at the dead flowers and the rough coverlet, studiously ignoring his dad's prone figure.

"Well, we're here. Now what?" he asked.

"Well," drawled Harry, thinking, "We're not about to leave your dad and go look for the rest of them, right, so we should hunker down, gather supplies."

"Okay," agreed Carl, "I mean this _is_ a hospital so there's probably plenty of stuff we can use."

"Wait. The world is still at an end out there, isn't it?" asked Harry, suddenly, "Only cause we can't realistically go 'round raiding an in-operation hospital."

"Yeah, looks pretty much like what you'd expect, there's a bunch of bodies and stuff and there's what looks like an abandoned military support station out there, didn't see any walkers but—"

Carl shrugged to indicate the futility of telling the dead-dead and the walking dead apart from such a vantage point if they weren't moving around.

Harry pulled a face.

"Well, that's unfortunate but it does make our lives easier."

"Yup," agreed Carl, wandering into the bathroom. There was the creak of a tap being turned and then the sound of running water.

"We've got water," he called back unnecessarily.

"Excellent," grinned Harry, "Maybe we can manage to actually get ourselves clean."

Carl flashed him and answering grin leaning around the doorway, "I'll get you a drink just gimme a sec."

Harry listened to the sounds of Carl puttering around the bathroom, splashing water on his face stripping out of his bloody flannel button down and grime-caked boots, and padding barefoot and hatless back into the hospital room.

He found an abandoned coffee mug behind the get well soon cards on the dresser by the door, and had it washed out and filled and in Harry's hands within the minute.

"We should boil it first," sighed Harry, his throat was dry as dust and the water looked clean and fresh.

"One cup isn't going to kill you," said Carl, dismissively, "Just have a couple of sips and you'll feel way better."

Harry sighed, hoped he wouldn't regret it later and took a few mouthfuls of water. It tasted a bit metallic, like it had been sitting in the pipes for a while, but Carl was right, he felt better as soon as he'd had some.

Carl shoved the dresser the three feet across the floor to have it effectively blocking the doorway. It wasn't likely that the precaution was necessary, given that Rick had remained undisturbed by either walkers or people all this time, but there was no sense up and _inviting_ fate to kick them in the balls.

He then took a slower, more thorough, prowl around the room, looking for things they could use and lining them up against the wall. He also scrounged up a pen. Looking thoughtful he folded one of those get well soon cards in half to expose the blank inner face and dropped down next to Harry.

"Let's make a shopping list," he said.

Harry snorted a bit, amused.

"Well there's the usual and the obvious, food, water, meds, batteries. We should see if we can raid the dispensary while we're here."

"We'll need weapons, too, knives especially. Guns and bullets if we can get them. I know my Dad brought most of the stuff from the weapons locker at the Sheriff's station last time. So we should hit there. And I wanted to—" Carl cut himself off, taking a visible breath before continuing, "I wanted to go back to our old place. I mean, I know that besides clothes and stuff there's no real reason to go there but I just—"

"No worries, mate. I get it." Harry reached over and ruffled his overgrown mop of hair, "We might have better luck raiding houses then trying our hand at stores and shops anyway."

"Yeah," said Carl, his voice a bit rough. He cleared his throat. "There's a sporting goods store in town too, I think. We can get good tents and camp gear."

"The military is bound to have left some good gear just lying around out there too."

"We're gonna need, like, a truck or something to carry all the stuff we want to bring," chuckled Carl.

"I was thinking one of those ridiculous mini-vans you always see on the telly. You know the one with the annoying advertisements that are all, fuel efficient this, cargo space that. Less conspicuous."

"And if we've got a vehicle we're gonna need extra gas," Carl pointed out.

"And somewhere to put it," sighed Harry, "There's no telling how long your dad's going to be unconscious for and we don't want to attract the wrong kind of attention and have our loot stolen. And after all that we still need to find the others."

"Well, that's pretty easy," Carl said, shrugging, "Everyone except for Michonne will be at the quarry camp. We settled in there right after Atlanta got napalmed and just—stayed put. Camped out there right in the hot zone just outside the city like a bunch of dumbasses until my dad came and found us. That's about when the shit started hitting the fan, y'know? Walkers started pouring out of the cities, the herds started to build up, moving along the highways."

"Do you know where Michonne was when all of this was happening?"

"No, well-no, okay, kind of?" said Carl, shaking his head, "I mean she told me she was in one of the refugee camps for a while, but I've got no idea where, and then I know that she met Andrea right after Hershel's farm was overrun, but she's not meant to be around there til winter so—"

Carl shrugged again.

"Right," said Harry, scrubbing a hand over his face, "It'd probably be easier just to go that way, or maybe out to that prison you guys cleared and wait for her to find us there, but Rick can decide what he wants to do when he wakes up."

"He is gonna wake up still, isn't he?"

Harry glanced over at Carl, surprised by the note of honest fear in his voice. Sometimes he forgot that the teen wasn't as hardened as he seemed. Not when it came to their little makeshift family in any case.

"I don't see why he wouldn't," Harry admitted, after a long moment of thinking about it, "I mean, even if I didn't manage to pull his consciousness back with us like I was meant to, he woke up all on his own the first time, right? So there's no reason that he wouldn't this time around. And we can help with that, get some food and fluids into him with that IV. Clean him up a bit."

Carl slumped a bit in relief, some of the humming tension bleeding out of his skinny frame.

"Yeah," he agreed, "You're right."

"Of course I am," teased Harry, "I'm always right."

Carl huffed out a quiet laugh at that, "Oh yeah? The way I remember it, _you_ were the one who said it would be a good idea to camp on the roof of that department store and nearly broke your leg."

"Ah yes, but we weren't eaten by walkers in our sleep now, were we?" Harry pointed out, with a reckless smile.

"Dad nearly killed the both of us for that stunt," Carl said, soft and fond as he glanced over at Rick, who hadn't so much as twitched this whole time except for the soft rise and fall of his chest.

"I got such a tongue-lashing," Harry admitted, "He was right pissed at me for keeping you out the whole night. Never mind that it would've been a special kind of suicidal to try and wade through all those walkers."

"He just gets scared. Especially after Judith. We're all we've got, you know?"

Harry did know. He knew all too well. And if anything had happened to Carl because of his decision that night he knew he'd feel more than deserving of whatever punishment Rick would have cared to mete out and worse.

"Come on," he said, "Let's try and get some sleep for now, it's been a bloody long few days. We can start going out on runs tomorrow, probably."

"I can go by myself even if you're not at one-hundred percent. Clear the hospital rooms at least," said Carl, getting the towels from the bathroom and the extra blanket from the dresser, his jaw set stubbornly. "If you're not up to it you should rest."

"You're not leaving me here by myself to sit on my arse like a lump and worry," Harry countered, helping to lay out their makeshift bed, "I'll be fine tomorrow."

"You know just because you say something doesn't make it true," Carl huffed, dropping onto the floor on top of the 'bed' in a careless, boneless sprawl that only a teenager could manage.

"I'll be fine tomorrow _if_ you stop arguing about it and let me sleep," Harry grumbled, laying himself out more gingerly.

"Whatever, Harry."

Harry could practically hear him rolling his eyes. He toed off his boots and pointedly buried his face into the towel that was serving as his pillow.

"Night," said Carl after a long few minutes of just lying there staring up at the ceiling.

"Night Carl," murmured Harry. "See you in the morning."

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thanks to everyone who took the time to review, alert and fave! You guys really make my day, I absolutely love hearing your thoughts. We're going to switch gears a bit for the next chapter, so hopefully you'll be looking forward to that ;).

til next time

-Donna


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